Alchimia Rex

Embla had been born a Dark Elf; by the time she’d been born, there was a reward for every head belonging to someone of the Dark Elf genus, the rebellion was all she’d ever known. She’d been raised by her mother, the Lady, a Warlock. They’d traveled the land in secret, seeking out others of their kind and any maiden with a desire to drive a blade into the king’s eye.

During those years, her mother had been the sole reason for their survival. It was her power that warded off ferals and hid them from the eyes of the king. No protection was perfect, and Embla had learned the taste of steel from a very early age.

So she’d fought, she’d learned, and she’d grown. Now, she was a Malumari, having reached the very pinnacle of her genus, having transitioned into this form nearly four winters prior. It had taken well over a decade of effort to attain this level, earning her position as the leader of the rebellion.

The name of her species alone would cause any would-be spell-slingers to flee in terror. On the battlefield, it was she who’d lead her sisters. She would be the storm that would shatter any gate, and she would be the shield that protected their retreat.

Her armor, heavier than the weight of any two humans combined, could withstand blows that would fell weaker maidens. Her ax, twice that weight, could breach any defense. Embla had engaged in and fought more battles than she could count, and throughout her years, she’d vanquished foes that by all accounts should have been her end.

There was no threat she would not face for her cause.

And as she stood guard over the doors, she prayed that she would not have to step through them and confront what lay within.

Some part of her wished to claim everything had changed when they’d encountered the pureblood humans, but the truth was that things had begun changing ever since she’d become Malumari.

Her mother had urged them to return to her birthplace, the very kingdom that had chased her away before Embla’s time. It had been in pursuit of the Lost Elves, a civilization that, according to the Lady, had once been an empire in its own right. Their search had led them to ancient and forgotten fortresses, structures made from living trees that continued to grow to this day.

They'd made it their home, gathering others to their cause, searching for a way to awaken those that lay in the Elven Grove. But there had been a second reason, from what Embla could gather; her mother had received a boon from someone of the Elven race decades prior. A gift that had prolonged her life by a considerable degree.

A boon that was running out.

Her only salvation lay in awakening the ever-slumbering Elves, an impossible dream… until Barry joined their ranks and revealed he had not come alone. The naïve, pure, flame-headed human had not succeeded in awakening the Green Empress, the Elf Queen who had once ruled these lands long before any of the current kingdoms or empires even existed.

But after several failed attempts, he’d succeeded in awakening one of the High Elves.

A High Elf who had been alive during the First War against humanity.

It had been a cause for great celebration, as the High Elf had been born by the hand of The Maker himself.

The maiden might have been jarred by the state of the world, but she had proven invaluable right away. Not only did she possess long-lost knowledge of how maidens could more reliably traverse to the pinnacle of their respective genus', but she also held power over the grand forest and its secrets.

Within a day, she had unlocked parts of the Elven palace that had been lying hidden for centuries. And among the treasures, one of which she had used to become something more powerful.

More horrifying.

"Pinielf" was a name Embla knew; she had read the texts, a maiden breed that was considered "kill on sight" by every nation where maidens were not free. She had thought nothing of it, as one did not sin by merely being born.

She should have heeded Barry's warning, the whispered plea for her to reconsider whom they were allying with. He had seen the hate in those eyes, or perhaps the insanity. But there had been no reason to heed those words then.

They were desperate, cornered; their successful kidnapping of his fellow pureblooded human had drawn the Earl's attention to the forest, and every day his forces approached closer.

Each week, fewer of their sisters returned from patrols, whether captured or killed, no one could be certain. In their desperation, they had welcomed a monster.

Now she remained as still as possible.

Not moving when the screams commenced.

This was her infernal duty, for if any of her sisters took her place, they might not be strong enough to endure the horrors that lay behind those doors. This was the only way she could protect them.

"Embla!" The Lady's voice snapped like a whip, intermingling with the cries of agony and insanity. The Malumari braced herself, gazing at her axe for a fleeting moment of hope, but left it behind as she entered, shutting the doors behind her.

The room had no windows, only stone and wood encased them, the harsh light emanated from pale, cold glow-lights that had been positioned in a grid on the ceiling. Streaks of fresh blood ran in nearly every direction, crimson slowly trickling down the walls.

On one end of the room and covering almost every wall were potted plants, and they would have represented the sole symbol of sanity in this chamber if one were to disregard that the vividly colored vegetation was not growing out of soil, but animal entrails.

Approaching the center was a single large slab of merciless murisium metal. The monster's captive lay there, vine-covered body convulsing and flailing against the wrist-thick enchanted metal in a desperate attempt to break free. The body fought for its own survival; the visible bits of flesh and bone displayed the distinct iridescent glow of radiant power, scorching the vines as they lashed and tried to burrow back into their victim's body, securing themselves in place once more.

Neither her flesh nor the vines seemed to gain the upper hand.

At the end of the table nearest the head stood the Pinielf.

She wore bone-white clothes that covered every inch of her body except for yellowed eyes with red irises that burned with something Embla dared not stare at for too long. A single vine extended from the maiden's shoulder, holding a flower to the "subject's" face.

Even unconscious, her body fought desperately against itself. Though what could be considered "her body" was difficult to determine as vines continuously emerged from every part of her flesh.

It might have been a mercy to kill her, but Embla had seen what White Claw had done to the maiden, and how she had survived.

The Malumari wasn't sure the Archangel was alive, not anymore.

"Stop standing there!"

The Warlock's voice called out over the howls, leaning against a metal chair, holding her staff over the Archangel, pouring every drop of her power into the creature. "Contain her power! Do not allow a drop to escape!"

Embla stepped closer, avoiding the lashing vine. The elemental power was thick, leaving her feeling as if she was walking through a firestorm. Clenching her jaw, her heavy boots thudded as she advanced into the nightmare.

Stretching her arms over her mother's staff, she added her power. Beads of sweat trickled down her neck and back; the Archangel's power was like trying to catch a bolt of lightning or a ray of sunshine. It slipped through her fingers and sought to strike at her with searing force.

Only her heavily enchanted armor kept her unharmed.

But it was her task, and if she failed, her mother would be caught in the storm. Her condition was nearing its limit; such a blow would end her there and then.

"Not much longer," the Pinielf said, voice muffled through the white cloth, the fabric underneath writhing in ways that suggested something other than a mouth beneath.

Red and yellow eyes locked on the monster as she leaned closer, caressing the maiden's cheeks as one would a child. "You must become perfect; you will have your revenge. Just push, push past your limit, become that which your lord desired for you to become." The voice warbled with heavy breaths, "You must kill the human."

"LORD THORLEY!"

The maiden howled, blackened eyes opening as the brilliance of her body transformed into a blinding light. Embla screamed, bracing herself, pouring everything she had to contain the explosive force before it could destroy them all.

And inches beneath her fingers, the maiden's form continued tearing itself, flesh and vines growing over one another and burning off as the power continued to rise. The speed of their own self-annihilation and recovery accelerated with every passing second, until the available energy began to diminish.

Slowly at first, but noticeable after only seconds, the tempest of power died down, until it vanished entirely.

Embla gasped and stumbled back, sweltering and catching her breath. She couldn't look away from the table and the thing on it.

"That… that is no Seraphim," she said, breath caught between horror and shock. She had witnessed a Seraphim once, a battle she'd been forced to flee.

This was not it.

This was a perversion, a plant mimicking the form of a maiden. The vines were compacted with one another so tightly they might look like merely pale green flesh at a glance, but they never calmed, writhing and curling into itself. The same could be said for its four wings, its hair… its eyes.

Embla took another step back.

"She is perfect," the Pinielf said, still caressing the monstrosity as if it were her own child. A kindness the creature did not return, its blackened eyes fixed on Embla with all-consuming attention.

"Will it work?" the Warlock spoke with a pained hiss, leaning heavily on the chair, her grasp too weak to hold her staff.

"She will need rest and time to become fully accustomed to her new power." The flower the Pinielf held drifted back over the face of the... thing, and it slumped as if truly unconscious. "And she will do exactly what we need her to do." An amused chuckle followed. "When her work is done, she will become the seed to your new boon."

The words took a moment to process; Embla lurched forward.

"Mother, you cannot!"

"Silence, would you have me die!?" The Warlock replied with a tired glare.

Embla flinched but didn't relent. "Death would be better than being turned into a monster!"

No, she would not stand for this! She clenched her fists.

"Perhaps you were not taught discipline properly." With the scent of lilacs, the room shuddered, coming to life and slowly moving, as if waiting for a command. "Rest assured, you will not die."

Embla saw the Pinielf through the corner of her eye; the maiden had grown, the white cloth had stretched, wriggling with the same distinctive movements of the accursed vines. She clenched her fists; regardless of her fate, she would ensure the monster would not live to see another day.

"NO!" The Warlock flung herself off the chair, crumpling to her knees in front of the creature disguised as a maiden, bowing her head. "Please forgive my foolish daughter; she does not know the old ways. She does not understand what is at stake."

The Malumari stood frozen, disbelief etched into her face and heart. She growled, anger coiling around her gut.

"The rebellion will accept your aid to conquer Sinco. However, our collaboration ends there."

"Embla!"

"No!" She roared at the Warlock. "If you wish to sell your soul for an accursed life, then I won't stop you. But I will not allow our cause to be turned into... this." She gestured at the table, where the creature lay. "We fight to kill the monsters, not become them."

The red and yellow eyes of the Pinielf gauged her, the creature slowly recovering its form. "That is acceptable, under two conditions." Gloved fingers caressed the body of the unmoving monstrosity. "The pureblooded girl, she is not yet ready to awaken the Empress into the world."

"And the second?"

"I've heard the current ruler of that city is another pureblooded human, of the same world as your... pet."

The leather creaked as her fists tightened. "He killed our sisters; I will see him dead. If you wish him to be alive, then you will have to get to him first."

The Pinielf laughed. "Would you not rather see him suffer? I can arrange for such."

"I wouldn't wish your 'gifts' even upon my worst enemy." Embla's gaze turned to her kneeling mother, then she marched out of the hellish nightmare that was that room.